Blackmail
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: After a night of reading and relaxation, Glynda mysteriously wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom… but how exactly did she get there after only half a glass of wine? Indeterminate time frame- probably before the events of RWBY. T for reasons, including alcohol. I do not own RWBY!


Glynda frowned a little, half-asleep, and—upon opening one eye to examine her surroundings—realized with a jolt that she was in a completely unfamiliar bedroom.

Sitting bolt upright, Glynda glanced down and found with some relief that she was still fully clothed. Though she was thirty-four and completely unashamed to admit it, one could never be too careful about these things. _But what happened? _she thought, frustrated. _I didn't have _that_ much wine. How could I have ended up here?_

The last thing she remembered was laughing, something she rarely did, as Ozpin read aloud portions of one of his many books. She never would have guessed that he had a weakness for terrible romance novels, but that was really only half as entertaining as seeing his color heighten upon reading the excerpts to her. He had always seemed so unflappable, even in the most explicit circumstances—Glynda was relieved he was actually human enough to blush on occasion.

Glynda shook her head to dispel these thoughts from her mind; her head ached slightly, but not enough to constitute a hangover. _So I probably didn't black out, _she thought with some relief. _But that still leaves the problem of figuring out where exactly I am._

She glanced around quickly; she sat in an extremely comfortable bed layered with silken spring-green sheets, a fluffy brown blanket, and a soft leaf-patterned comforter: many pillows, decorated with various patterns in colors evocative of forests, were piled behind her head. _I could get used to this, _she thought, allowing a small smile to tug at her mouth. _Why isn't _my_ bed this comfortable?_

Morning light streamed through the slightly open window, green curtains drawn back, and Glynda noticed the walls were fairly lined with bookshelves and one writing desk—the only disorganized place in the room. It was littered with paper, inkwells both empty and full, and several quill pens were stuck in a plain white ceramic mug at all angles.

_ Ozpin uses those._

Glynda's eyes widened: could this be _his _room? She threw off the covers as though they were poisonous, standing up on wobbly, nylon-clad legs—_what happened to my boots?—_and staring around. The more she examined her surroundings, the more she saw Ozpin's touch. Finally throwing open the door, she found herself standing at the top of the stairs in his office, and closed her eyes, trying even more desperately to remember how she had managed to get into the headmaster's bedroom.

Futilely attempting to fend away the less likely but more desirable of the several options, Glynda eventually determined she would simply find and ask Ozpin, as soon as she located her boots. She descended the stairs cautiously, wondering where Ozpin could be, before his voice spoke lazily from his desk chair, "It's about time I got my bed back. My back isn't too happy about last night."

Glynda's heart seemed to stop for a moment. "Wh-what?" she managed after a few seconds of dumbfoundedness. _Did I black out after all? Did he put something in my drink? _She glanced around for her wand, snatching it from his desk and gripping it tightly in case she had to use it.

Ozpin spun around to face her—_thank God, he's wearing all his clothes too—_a twinkle in his eye. "Don't tell me you don't remember?" he frowned upon seeing her expression. "You only had half a glass of wine, after all, and that simply isn't enough to cause a blackout. I should know."

"Ozpin," said Glynda sharply, smacking her wand into her hand. "What happened." It wasn't a question: she had a right to know what had gotten her into Ozpin's bed, and she would find out by force if necessary.

Ozpin raised his eyebrows, the tiniest of smiles on his face. "I'm flattered you apparently think me capable of outright seduction," he sighed, as though remembering days gone by; Glynda felt her cheeks flush slightly. "Unfortunately, my back and my age beg to differ," he added in a mutter.

"Just tell me what happened!" exclaimed Glynda, staring at him. "You're being awfully roundabout for an innocent man. Now, tell me: what happened last night?"

Ozpin smiled faintly. "You walked in on me with my wine, crackers, and cheese," he began. "You accused me of breaking my own rules, so I offered to share some with y—"

"I remember _that_ part," interrupted Glynda glaringly, standing on one hip. "I just don't remember how I got into your bed. And where are my shoes?" she added as an afterthought, glancing around. Only with her shoes was she even close to Ozpin's height; without them, she stood a full head shorter, and felt distinctly inferior.

Ozpin bent down, wincing, and retrieved her boots from under his desk, handing them to her a moment later. "Here you are," he muttered, teeth grit, and a twinge of worry flickered in Glynda's mind. _His back, _she remembered, and reluctantly laid her wand down in a gesture of peace.

"Sorry," she mumbled, putting on her shoes and lacing them up. "I… the last thing I remember is listening to you read excerpts from your romances—though why exactly you chose to do that, unless you were particularly tipsy, I couldn't begin to guess." She straightened up again.

Ozpin smiled. "Particularly tipsy," he mused. "Perhaps I was. Or perhaps I just wanted to share an evening with you in a way _not _having to do with planning lessons and speeches." He raised an eyebrow. "You be the judge. In any case, you fell asleep in the middle of one of the most interesting scenes," he added, not without a note of accusation in his voice. "I recall you having warned me earlier that you were exhausted, but of course I didn't think that meant you would fall asleep with your head on my desk."

Glynda sank into a chair defeatedly, resenting that he had seen her asleep. She made it a point always to appear as dignified as possible in any situation she found herself in, regardless of whether or not Ozpin was a part of that scenario. "Blackmail," she muttered. "You're going to blackmail me, aren't you."

"Only if you give me a reason to, dear Miss Goodwitch," smiled Ozpin, putting his fingers together lightly in an almost menacing way. "For example…" he began, and Glynda winced in advance; he was remarkably quick at coming up with new ways to mess with her. "If you don't play cards with me tomorrow evening, I'll be very disappointed."

"Cards?" repeated Glynda, looking at Ozpin, surprised. _That's a new one. _"You play _cards_?"

"Solitaire is one of my sole occupations when I'm alone," responded Ozpin smilingly. "And while I don't condone gambling at all, I'm rather good at poker… though I haven't played it for quite a while, come to think of it," he added, scratching his head in thought. "You can pick the game," he added regretfully, as Glynda gave him her best disapproving look. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction, recognizing that this was as good as it would get, and leaned back in her chair, sighing.

There was a long, somewhat awkward silence before Glynda remembered to ask her foremost question: "So—how did I actually get _into your bed_?" She accompanied her words with a glare, which Ozpin received with a sigh, as though he had been hoping she would forget to ask the question. Glynda's hand moved automatically to her wand; she jerked it back again, determined to solve this without slapping him with it this time, as always seemed to happen.

"Well," began Ozpin hesitantly. "You made some sort of vague threat when I tried to wake you up, and even though you were half-asleep, you seemed more than capable of laying waste to the whole office if I continued trying to bring you around. So I removed your wand, picked you up, and carried you upstairs, and that was that." He leaned back, a contented expression on his face.

Glynda's eyes widened. _That wasn't just a dream…? _She half-remembered the velvet touch of Ozpin's jacket brushing against her cheek, slightly elevated heartbeat separated from her ear only by his clothing, and the gentle feel of gloves on the crook of her knees—covered only by nylon. And she remembered more clearly being set down gently on those silken sheets, covered with that fluffy blanket and soft comforter, and finally hearing Ozpin's whisper—"Good night, Glynda"—and _a light kiss on her forehead. _But she had assumed it all to be a dream. It wouldn't have been the first time, after all.

"_There _it is," said Ozpin, satisfied, dragging Glynda unwillingly to the present. "I knew you would remember."

Glynda swallowed dryly. "I remember a lot more than just you bringing me up to your room," she responded, standing up, the beginnings of triumph rising within her. "You called me Glynda."

"I'm sure you're imagining things, Miss Goodwitch," replied Ozpin, though with a barely noticeable wink after his words, and Glynda rolled her eyes, flushing slightly. _I hate it when he does that._

"And," snapped Glynda, the aggressiveness in her voice summoned mostly to work out her embarrassment at her pink cheeks, "_Mr._ Ozpin, you kissed me. On the forehead."

_That _disarmed him. Ozpin opened his mouth as though to reply, but shut it again abruptly, looking away from her as his color rose slightly. Glynda smirked: just this once, the universe had allowed her to get the upper hand, and make Henkel Ozpin speechless.

"And I _won't _play cards with you tomorrow," added Glynda sweetly; Ozpin still could not look her in the eye. "But I'll be very disappointed if you don't spar with me later today, no matter what condition your back is in. Three o'clock. Grand Courtyard. Be there." She smiled at him, careful to let triumph win over affection in her eyes, and turned abruptly, stalking out the door and leaving Ozpin to stare after her incredulously.

_ Life here is going to be a lot more fun now that I know where his loyalties lie._

**((Second RWBY fanfic! And still Ozglyn, too. *sigh*))**


End file.
